


Touches

by DeathValleyQueen



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Semi-Public Sex, neck porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathValleyQueen/pseuds/DeathValleyQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond is driving Q crazy, but Q's not sure it's on purpose. A brief PWP</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touches

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a Yule gift for my partner Yasi. I love you, baby.

It starts small enough that Q thinks it’s maybe, maybe, an accident. They are in Mallory’s office, the lot of them, listening to a Bond’s debrief about his latest mission. It went with astonishingly little complexity this time, thanks in large part to Q. Not that he’s getting much credit at the moment. If he wanted praise he was in the wrong line of work. As they are being dismissed Bond reaches up and brushes the back of Q’s neck.

Q’s back instantly goes stiff and he spins around to glare at Bond. For his part Bond is blinking innocently at him. “You’d a mosquito.” He explains in a calm voice.

That might be a lie. It’s hard to tell with Bond. Q sniffs, turns and walks away. It was probably nothing. Still, when he sleeps that night he dreams in hot, scarred flesh, big, capable hands, and he comes in his sleep for the first time since he was a teen. It’s embarrassing and he has to force himself not to blush for the whole working day after.

 

The second time isn’t really Bond’s fault either. Q’s been kidnapped. It was bound to happen, practically every Quartermaster is at some point. He’s been trained and, frankly, he’s probably been bugged by MI6 without his knowledge. He’s been in the filthy, windowless cell for three days when the door blows open. Q looks up as Bond walks in. “Took you long enough.” Q mutters, his voice horse. They haven’t been giving him food or water because he hasn’t been talking.

Bond and Q sneak out of the place (which turns out to be a Central American Dictator’s personal prison). At one point they hide in a closet, Bond’s chest pressed against Q’s back. Q’s legs were weak already from the abuse he had suffered the last three days. Bond’s breath against the back of his neck is not helping. Q thinks he might pass out but then there are two very strong hands holding him by the thighs. 

“Don’t worry,” Bond whispers, his lips brushing oh so teasingly against the back of Q’s neck. “We’re almost home.”

And Q doesn’t worry. Or think for that matter. He wishes he could turn around and show Bond just how not worried he is at that moment. Then he works at convincing his body that blood should really be flowing other places besides his cock.

They make it back to MI6 and Q hopes they did so without Bond realizing why Q had such a difficult time walking after leaving the closet.

 

After that, though, it stops feeling like an accident. Bond keeps finding ways to touch the back of Q’s neck. He began to slot his hand against Q’s neck when congratulated him on a job well done. Bond would sneak up behind him to whisper “Boo” just close enough that those lips brushed that spot. Sometimes in meetings Bond would slide a pen across the back of Q’s neck. It was infuriating and distracting and Q jerked himself almost raw every night but that didn’t keep the dreams away.

Finally, Q has managed to go a whole two days without Bond touching him. True, that’s mostly because Bond’s been on mission. He’s not due back until tomorrow. Q has been working all day and he’s exhausted himself trying to keep track of Bond. Being the last one in the offices, Q lets himself lean back in his chair and sigh. 

A hot, wet mouth was suddenly on the back of his neck. Q tries to sit up but familiar hands pin him down. Q can’t help the moan of raw lust that shot through him when that mouth sucks against the back of his neck.

Bond chuckles against his skin. “I knew it,” Bond purrs, nipping the skin he’d been so expertly molesting. “Everyone has somewhere they like best to be touched. Yours isn’t your pretty cock, is it, Q?”

Q can’t answer. He knows this is bad. There are security cameras. This is James Bond, he probably has more STI’s than the whole rest of London Proper combined. Not to mention all the other perfectly sensible reasons why this is a Bad Idea. Those reasons were somewhere, Q is sure. He just isn’t sure why they weren’t piping up at the moment.

Those lips keep up the good work. Bond keeps whispering dirty things against Q’s skin before finally saying “Touch yourself.” And Q does. He reaches into his pants and takes out his dick. His fist is flying over his hard, leaking member at record speed. This is so much better than in the shower by himself.

He’s going to come with embarrassing quickness. It just feels so good. He’s no virgin but no one has ever spent so long just teasing his neck. He is gonna—Oh, Christ, he needs to.

“Come,” Bond orders.

Q tosses his head back, lips parted in a silent cry as he spilled over his hand. Then there is silence filled only by Q’s panting. Bond turns Q’s chair around to face him. Their eyes meet. Bond takes hold of Q’s wrist, brings Q’s hand up, and begins to lick it clean of come. Q whimpers again just before Bond is kissing him.

Kissing Bond after coming is like trying to calm an angry mother bear by kicking her cub. They pull apart, Q’s eyes dark with lust. “Take me home,” Q begs in a high pitched whimper.

“Of course.” Bond replies. And he does.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Touches Redux](https://archiveofourown.org/works/589284) by [DeathValleyQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathValleyQueen/pseuds/DeathValleyQueen)




End file.
